


A Message For Peter

by asequenceofbaddecisions



Series: Look Out For The Little Guy [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, I NEEDED THIS, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Irondad, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Supportive May Parker (Spider-Man), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, tony stark therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-25 23:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asequenceofbaddecisions/pseuds/asequenceofbaddecisions
Summary: Peter has been to a lot of funerals, but never one quite like this. It would seem Tony left behind two video messages - the second one addressed to Peter Parker. And apparently, Peter's missed quite a bit.





	A Message For Peter

_“…But then again, that’s the hero game. Part of the journey is the end.”_

_“What am I tripping for? Everything is going to work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”_

-

It was certainly not Peter’s first funeral, but it was definitely the hardest so far. The week before was a blur: wrapping his head around Thanos, the snap, and what had actually happened in the time he’d missed. Not to mention watching Tony Stark take his last breath right in front of him. But the time came for the funeral, and Peter shouldered his iron-heavy suit, trying not to catch a glimpse of his purpled eyes in the mirror.

The car journey out of New York was suffocating. May knew not to talk, merely squeezing his hand when his breathing seemed to quicken. It still felt surreal, like a practical joke – _five_ _years_ had gone by. Life had moved on. Tony had a house in the country now – and Peter’s housewarming tour would be somewhat dampened by the last fucking rites.

Peter had steeled himself (to some degree) for the usual funeral business – sad smiling, condolences to the family, saving the sobbing for the taxi ride home – but this fool-proof plan vanished immediately. On approaching the house, the whispers of guests seemed to dissolve as he caught sight of a young girl on the porch. Not much older than six, and clinging tightly to Pepper’s legs. Upon catching eyes with Peter, she whispered something to Pepper, before making a beeline down the gravelled path towards him.

“May… _May_.”

May clocked the child, then Peter’s shell-shocked face, and swiftly put two and two together.

“That’s not…he didn’t—”

This was cut short by a choking inhale from Peter as the girl stopped in front of the pair.

“Are you Spider-Man?”

The lump in Peter’s throat _would not_ disappear, so he settled for a shaken nod.

The girl beckoned for Peter to bend lower, and he obeyed.

“My name is Morgan,” she whispered, “And my daddy tells me stories about Spider-Man. He says that he’s the bravest superhero of them all. He says that one day, when I’m in trouble, Spider-Man will help me out.” Peter’s breathing was shuddering now, and his positive demeanour trembled. The girl leaned closer; her voice small. “Will you help me?”

“ _Of course_.” This came out thick with emotion, and the child threw her arms around Peter before she could see his tears threatening to spill. They stayed like this for a minute or so – Peter trying with all his might to control his grief. Morgan buried her face into Peter’s neck, gently patting his back with an unmistakable gravitas. She pulled away, nodding with satisfaction, and departed with a twirl. Peter stood, squeezing his eyes shut, and felt May’s hand on his shoulder.

“Tony had a _kid_. How—why did he—why—” May rubbed his arm as he tried to force the words out. He was acutely aware of several funeral-goers staring, and ducked his head in response. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can, Pete.” She pulled him closer, pressing a light kiss into his hair. “C’mon, chin up. It can only get easier from here.”

Peter took a deep breath, braced himself, and took a heavy step towards the congregation. He was introduced (and re-introduced) to innumerable people – most of which he’d never seen away from a battlefield, which certainly didn’t soothe his bubbling anxiety. In a few, he recognised the unrelenting sorrow that he knew sat behind his own eyes: Rhodey, Pepper, and Steve, to name a few. They could only exchange pained looks; silence a sorry substitute for understanding.

 

After the send-off, Peter had wanted nothing more than to go straight home: the past few weeks had been nothing if not overwhelming. But just as he made his speedy exit, Pepper had slipped him a small, black memory stick, paired with a bittersweet expression and a hand squeeze. On it, familiar handwriting had scrawled ‘Peter’. So here he was, crossed-legged on his bedroom floor, placing the device in front of him. He pressed the small button on top, and then scooted backwards in trepidation. There was a whirr, before a blue light sprang out with a stutter. There, in a shitty Queens apartment, sat Tony Stark – alive as ever.

_“Hey Pete.”_

Peter’s heart rate quickened. Tony – fake Tony – paused for a second, looking discouraged.

 _“Ugh, this is…this…”_ He hummed in thought. _“This is hard. Shit.”_ Fake Tony rubbed his face. _“Okay. If-If this ever gets watched, I’m dead. And you’re alive. Which is…incredible. Not the ‘me-dead’ part, obviously, but you being back. That’s a miracle.”_

Peter pulled his knees up to his chest, barely blinking for fear that the message would slip by.

 _“Look, the first thing I want to tell you is…everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to. If you’re back, that is. And in case you start doing something_ dumb _like blaming yourself – which you might – don’t. Just don’t. I’m old, Pete. Or, rather, was old.”_ Tony smiled, then seemed to realise the implications of what he’d said. _“What I’m trying to say is, I will do whatever it takes to get you back. You’ll have the rest of your life ahead of you, kid.”_

Tony stopped, and the blue image flickered. It was difficult to tell, but his eyes seemed a little glossier than before.

 _“Okay, so – I did therapy, Pete!”_ He threw his arms in the air, an incredulous look on his face. _“And it was great! Who knew crying to a stranger could be so fun?!”_ Fake Tony laughed, and Peter nervously did the same. _“Seriously, go to therapy – I promise I’ll pay.”_ Tony pulled a small notebook into the blue light, and opened at a bookmarked point. _“My therapist told me to make a list of everything I wish I could tell you. To be honest, I don’t think she expected me to still be doing it five years later, but…eh.”_ He grabbed a pair of reading glasses and squinted at the page. Peter realised how much he’d aged.

 _“I’ll only give you the highlights. Won’t bore you with the rest.”_ Tony placed a finger onto the paper. _“Number one – Pepper’s pregnant. Shit – Pete! I’ve got a daughter!”_ His face lit up. _“She’s amazing, you’ll love her – just as smart as her mother, but with my hair and appetite.”_ The two men laughed in unison. _“She can whip my ass at chess and be asleep ten minutes later, it’s remarkable.”_ Tony’s chuckles died down, and he looked at the floor. _“She might need your help as she gets older. If anyone knows what it’s like to grow up without a parent, it’s you.”_ Tony smiled. _“Honestly…I thought I’d feel different, being a father, but I kind of had that. With you. The constant worrying, the pride, wanting to give you as much as I possibly could. Yeah.”_

Tony cleared his throat, turning the book’s page. _“Number five – I married Pep. She kept her surname, of course. Six – Colorado is not all it’s cracked up to be. And definitely not the best place for a honeymoon.”_ He smirked. _“Number nine – I asked if you wanted coffee in the lab, today.”_ Fake Tony glanced up. _“That’s a running theme in this list. See, here – eleven: I woke up at 3am with a new idea for your suit. Only after I’d woken up Pep trying to find a pen did I realise it was pretty pointless.”_ Tony’s brows furrowed and he inhaled. _“Sorry, this has gotten pretty morbid pretty quick. Let’s find a good one…”_ He scanned the list, humming to himself, before squeaking ‘ooh!’ a few pages on.

 _“Number twenty-nine – I created the Peter Parker Fund at your old school.”_ This caused a beaming grin to break out onto Tony’s face. _“Helps put students all the way through high school_ and _university. And not just awarded for academic excellence – let’s face it, anyone at that school could win that – but specifically for bravery in facing hardship. And…and if you ever make it back, it’s there for you to use, kid.”_ Fake Tony swallowed, but the lines in his face still radiated pure joy. _“You were so brave, Pete._ So _brave. You did things and saw things that grown adults could never deal with, but you always faced them with such…heroism. You were a hero, Peter._ Are _a hero.”_

Peter, who was still curled up on the floor, hadn’t noticed the tears sliding down his face. His gaze was still affixed on the animated figure a few feet away, whose vivid tone and mannerisms felt a stark contrast to the rest of the day’s solemnities.

 _“I’ll skip a year or so, most of these are just little things…”_ Tony flicked through the pages, every now and then pausing as he caught sight of a new memory. _“Seventy-four: I saw a ten-year-old running around the park in a Spider-man mask. Eighty-nine: I went for a walk and ended up outside your old apartment. One hundred and two: Morgan took her first steps – Pepper and I weren’t even watching; she was trying to chase a squirrel!”_

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

 _“Ah – one hundred and thirty-three. Morgan wanted a bedtime story, and I told her the story of Spider-man. She absolutely loved it.”_ Tony smirked. _“I didn’t mention me dragging you to Germany, obviously; more the fluffy stuff. Y’know, you swinging around Queens, stopping petty thieves and learning about the power of friendship, or whatever it is you do. I mean…did.”_ Tony paused, gnawing feverishly on his lower lip. Once or twice he inhaled suddenly, as if to say something, but stopped before the words could slip out.

 _“Um…”_ He looked down at the book. _“Two hundred. I reconnected with Harley. Oh, you two will get on like a house on fire. Maybe literally,”_ he chuckled, _“I met Harley, what, ten years ago? He can’t be much older than you. Well, I had a meltdown in his garage, and he yanked me back to sanity kicking and screaming. He’s got the most incredible mechanical mind – God, what I’d give to see the two of you working together.”_ A pensive look crossed his face. _“Maybe…maybe I will. Maybe we’ll bring you back, and I’ll manage to survive this crazy fuckin’ plan. Yeah. Perhaps the two of you will design my hi-tech wheelchair for when I’m old and incontinent – Morgan can wheel me around.”_ He sniffed. _“Or maybe not. Even so, I’ll still make you promise to meet him and come up with some insane shit together. The world’s not ready.”_

As Tony resumed his attention to the notebook, Peter managed to uncurl his limbs, pawing at his damp cheeks with his hoodie sleeve. A sudden wave of loss overwhelmed him, filling him with the need for being as close to Tony as possible. Without shifting his focus, he managed to grab a chair and sit squarely opposite the vision in the centre of his room. The men now sat at equal heights, and Peter was directly in his mentor’s line of vision.

 _“Two hundred and twenty-five.”_ Tony took a deep breath, staring accusingly at the paper. _“I-I realised that I never told you that I love you.”_ Tony squeezed his eyelids, and his left leg started to bounce. _“Shit…I knew this would be the hard one. I could make some shitty excuse about my dad never saying he loved me but…it doesn’t make it any less true. I never told you – while you were alive – how deeply I really cared about you. Hell, I’ve stood at that fuckin’ monument hundreds of times and said it, for hours on end. But when it really counted, I didn’t do it.”_ His voice started to split with emotion. _“Peter, you are so loved. So loved and so, so intensely missed. You were such a huge part of the best time of my life, and for a long time were the one thing I hadn’t fucked up. Until…”_ Tony’s fist clenched, as did his jaw. His gaze shot up, locking eyes with Peter from across the digital barrier. _“Thank you so much for putting up with my shit. I love you so much and I’m so sorry for—for everything.”_

A silent sob clawed at Peter’s chest as he watched Tony attempt to curb his emotions. There was a moment of silence as Peter muffled weeping with his hand, desperately trying not to disturb May.

 _“Three hundred and forty.”_ Tony cleared his throat. _“I realised I hadn’t had the nightmare about Titan for six months. That…that was a big milestone for me. It used to be every night – watching you die again, and again, and again. But now…four or five times a year, if I’m lucky.”_ He forced a wry smile. _“I guess, in some twisted way, at least I get to see you. Even if it is in the worst way possible.”_ He nodded submissively, flicking forward a few pages in the journal.

 _“Getting near the end now – four hundred and twenty-seven. Morgan started kindergarten.”_ Tony scratched his greying beard. _“I know, a bit early, but I guess she just felt ready. And you know what kids are like – can’t force them to do anything they don’t want to.”_ Despite his light-hearted tone, Tony’s face suddenly seemed overwhelmed. He slumped slightly in his chair, gaze drooping. Both men, dead and alive, seemed acutely aware that time was running out. Any precious seconds spent with each other were to be clung to with desperation.

 _“Finally…five hundred and one. Scott Lang visited me with a theory that could bring you back. Bring everyone back. And…”_ Tony closed the notebook and took off his glasses. _“It’s crazy. It’s a crazy theory. But I keep thinking about Titan, and Strange giving up the Time Stone for my life. There_ had _to be a reason. What if it’s me, Pete? What if I have to die for us to win?”_ He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. _“So—so that’s why I’m recording this message. Because the tiny little optimist in me fiercely believes that there’s a chance for everyone to…to get their families back. All it needs is for me to sacrifice mine.”_

 _“So…tomorrow might be my last day on earth.”_ He let out a mirthless chuckle. _“Shit, it’s crazy to think of it like that. But kid – I want you to know that if I even get to see you once, before I die, it will all have been worth it. For years I’ve been willing the impossible to happen, and now that it’s conceivable to see you, speak to you,_ hug _you—”_ Tony gave an indecipherable shrug. _“That’s the most amazing feeling in the world.”_

 _“I’ll know that we’ve won, Pete, and that any other price we have to pay will not nearly compare to seeing you one last time. Because I did do this for you – because I never could have lived a full life knowing there was something more I could have done.”_ Tony squared his shoulders. _“So…look out for Morgan for me. Stay in school, listen to your Aunt, and reach out to Harley. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”_ He leant forward, and Peter did the same. They looked each other straight in the eyes. _“Thank you, Peter Parker. For saving me from the darkest times. I love you so much and…and I hope to see you again soon.”_

With a final smile, the blue light evaporated, leaving the room cold and lifeless. May found Peter hours later, still in the same position, dried tears cracking and heaving on his cheeks. She held him tightly. There was a long road ahead, but for the first time in a long while, there was a way out of the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially my personal post-Endgame therapy.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
